Psalm 131
At the end of this day,
i will lean back on Your breast;
and i will rest. Father, i will not
ponder politic or purpose,
but my fingertips will rise and fall
like gentle breaths, softly
across Your bearded countenance.
i will bury bloodshot eyes,
rubbed red, raw, and stressed,
into the crook of Your neck.
i will run grasping hands,
opening and closing in pursuit
of affection, through the lightest
locks that fall from Your hushed head.
i will lay down in that bed
and neither toss nor turn,
as You lay a blanket over me,
renewing me with sleep.
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